


Teenage Wasteland

by ladyrogueevie (claire_debonair)



Category: Bandom
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-03
Updated: 2009-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 13:38:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire_debonair/pseuds/ladyrogueevie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Life sixteen years on, with more surnames than would fit onto a marriage certificate and far too many celebrity kids.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Teenage Wasteland

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't going to repost this, because looking back it's so ridiculous that I can't quite believe I ever put it online in the first place, but on adding the first tag I found three other Bronx-related pairings. So there's some equally ridiculous fics out there. 
> 
> Original notes: _So. This might just be the most random thing that I've ever written, and probably ever will write. I blame it completely and utterly on[the_backrow_kid](the_backrow_kid.livejournal.com) , not that she has any problem with that. This is the one I've been calling the batshit insane fic, and I think on the basis of that I've sworn more in the last week than I have in three years. Basically, there was this: _
> 
> __[the_backrow_kid](the_backrow_kid.livejournal.com): Bronx Mowgli Wentz is crowned WORST celebrity baby name in 2008. i find this hard to believe but incredibly hilarious. anyone else?  
> [ladyrogueevie](ladyrogueevie.livejournal.com): lol!! I can't think of anything worse, although I don't follow celebrity baby names. I only know his because it was unavoidable.  
> [the_backrow_kid](the_backrow_kid.livejournal.com): i wrote to pete to congradulate his son. only in LA a month, and already, he's on a top ten list.  
> [ladyrogueevie](ladyrogueevie.livejournal.com): what else do you expect from the son of pete wentz? i suspect it's only a matter of time before we see him cuddling with some other celebrity baby boy.  
> [the_backrow_kid](the_backrow_kid.livejournal.com): ...sixteen years from now People Magazine's explosive cover story: Bronx Wentz and Knox Jolie-Pitt dating! best namesmush EVER.
> 
> _And then there came this._

Pete actually times how long it takes for the Jolie-Pitt clan to turn up at his door after People hits the shelves and the blogsphere. 

Half an hour. Half an hour. 

Pete's worried about what sort of reaction this means, but then he remembers the incident with Vivienne, Harlow Ritchie-Madden, that paparazzo at that club and figures Angelina and Brad are well within their rights to be so quick off the mark. 

He opens the door to thankfully find less than half of them waiting there, looking at him with varying expressions. Angelina sails in with a wide smile and kisses him on both cheeks and his forehead, something she's picked up from some African tribe, no doubt. Brad gives him a slightly sheepish smile and a firm handshake, promising to try and stop her from getting too over-excited about the whole thing. 

Both the twins are there, of course, because where one goes, the other follows, and one of them is most definitely necessary for this conversation. Shiloh follows them in with a shrug of her shoulders and a slight smile, which widens when she sees Mele. 

The two of them shout something incomprehensible to their respective parents, which both Ashlee and Patrick reply to with "sure, whatever, we'll yell if we need you", and vanish upstairs. Pete takes one last look outside to make sure he's not going to shut the door on any more Jolie-Pitt offspring, then goes to join the conference. 

"I think we all know why we're here," begins Angelina. She digs out a glossy magazine from her bag and passes it to Ashlee, who rolls her eyes at the by-now familiar cover picture and chucks it over to Pete. 

It's one of those surprisingly good paparazzo photos that will make the rounds on the internet for years to come, cropped into banners and icons for a million fangirls and boys. It shows the outside to The Ivy, still trendy after sixteen years, although the facade is slightly blurred because the focus is on two boys leaning against a car parked outside the restaurant and making out, hands tight on each other's hips. 

Ashlee glares at Bronx. 

Angelina beams at Knox. 

Brad shifts uncomfortably, looks at Pete, then rolls his eyes at himself. "I guess you're with Angelina on this one," he comments, eyes sliding to Patrick and back, "what with having had boyfriends yourself." 

"Hey!" says Patrick hotly, "For the last time, we were never boyfriends." 

"Sorry, sorry. Then-" 

"Don't ask, because I've got no fucking clue." Patrick smiles wryly, and after a moment Brad joins him. 

"Like that, was it?" 

"Was? It still is. There's just more people. And we've all got kids." 

Pete clears his throat. "I'm right here, guys." Brad and Patrick turn to look at him. 

"And?" 

"I- oh, never mind." Pete glares at Patrick and receives a glare from Ashlee in return. Stupid fucking extended family; it feels like he's permanently being told off. 

"Can we get back to the bigger issue, please?" Ashlee makes an attempt to get the meeting back on track before Pete and Patrick have another of their epic 'what the hell were we before Ashlee told us to get our acts together and basically adopted Patrick and his kids into the family' arguments. 

"Of course." Angelina smiles serenely as order is restored, which makes Pete nervous. He leans over to ask Brad quietly "how many knives does she have today?" 

"Only two," whispers Brad, "and I made her leave those in the car." 

That's only mildly comforting. 

"So," demands Ashlee, "Bronx, what do you have to say for yourself?" Angelina nods and raises her eyebrows at Knox, wordlessly asking the same question. The two boys share a look. 

"Um," ventures Bronx, "what do you mean?" 

"This!" Ashlee shakes the magazine at them. "What is this?!" 

"That's us. Kissing." Bronx has inherited his Dad's inability to sense danger and act accordingly, or at least his lack of shame for anything. Knox glances at his mother and wisely decides against saying anything; knives in the car or not, Angelina can still project menace. 

"I can see that!" Ashlee's voice reaches shrill, and Pete decides it's time to intervene. 

"I think what your mom means is, why were you kissing in public?" Comprehension dawns over Bronx's face - for a moment. Then Ashlee rounds on Pete.

"No, it isn't! I want to know why there was any kissing going on, let alone in public!" 

Bronx coughs awkwardly. "Mom, we're, ah. We're dating." In a move so smooth Pete suspects they've practiced, Bronx and Knox link their fingers together, ducking their heads to hide their matching smiles. 

Pete groans. 

Things just got so much more complicated. 

——

The thing about having an extended family of the size and madness of the one Pete's found himself in is that everyone has an opinion and no problem expressing it. It's even worse when so many of the troupe (Brendon's word. It stuck.) have absolutely no idea what the word 'privacy' means, because it leads to an excessive amount of chatter. Ashlee gapes at her son, mouth working but no sound coming out. Brad looks pretty much the same. 

Pete's not surprised, really. He's had them both labeled as the 'straight' parents for a few years. 

He knows he looks proud, and probably a little smug, similar to the expression on Angelina's face as she clasps her hands together and says something in French that makes Knox blush furiously and glare at her. Vivienne looks faintly bored, but she is a seventeen year-old girl; Pete has some minor experience with them, and takes her boredom as warning that there's an almighty row waiting for Knox for not telling her sooner. 

Pete looks at Patrick. Ashlee shuts her mouth with an audible snap and looks at him as well. Patrick looks at them both warily. "What?" 

"Do something!" Ashlee emphasizes the demand with a flap of her hand in Bronx's direction. 

"I, uh, what do you mean?" Pete likes it when Patrick flails, usually, but he's got the feeling he'd get told off for making him flail even more right now. 

"I think she wants you to talk to them," Pete says, more to watch the blush rise in Patrick's cheeks than out of any thought of helping Ashlee. She reaches round and whacks his head. 

"No I don't! Well," she adds thoughtfully, "not that sort of talk, Pete'll do that," Pete chokes on air. He will? "but at least make them see sense." 

"About what?" Patrick asks carefully, casting a look at Bronx and Knox. They're both watching Ashlee with identical expressions, scared verging on anger, their hands clasped so tightly their knuckles are going white. Pete swallows. He's been through this (admittedly, he was thirty five, sitting next to his best friend and telling his parents something they'd assumed since he was twenty one, but it was still freaking scary), and he leans against Patrick's side for comfort. 

Ashlee follows Patrick's gaze, looking a little confused, then stumbles over herself apologizing and trying to explain. She calms down enough to clear her throat very deliberately, and says, avoiding Angelina's intense stare, "I just mean that maybe they shouldn't be doing that. In public. It's a bit, well, exhibitionist?" 

"Um, baby?" 

Ashlee sighs. "Okay, okay, that is a little hypocritical from someone who married Pete Wentz. But they're young-" 

"At their age I was doing much worse," Pete points out, seeing Angelina nodding out of the corner of his eye. 

"Patrick? What do you think?" 

Patrick shrugs. "I don't see the problem with making out in public. It's a bit skeevy to get photographed doing it, I guess, but like Pete said, he's done worse." 

A thought occurs to Pete. "Am I going to be the benchmark for their bad behavior? Because if I am, we might as well fit them with chastity belts and ground them for the rest of their lives. Safer." 

"And less dangerous," Patrick adds, looking at Pete with the grin of someone who has borne witness to far too many escapades to treat them seriously anymore. 

Brad raises his hand tentatively. Patrick rolls his eyes. "I think I heard a car pull up." 

"Oh shit." Ashlee dashes to the door, the rest looking on in curiosity. "It's my Dad. And—huh. Jessica. The hell?" 

"Uh, mom?" Bronx follows Brad and lifts his free hand. "Can we please go?" 

Ashlee looks at the two figures walking up to front door, and groans. "Yes, go on. Flee while you still can. You can go if you want, Vivienne." 

The teenager shakes her head, giving her twin a death glare as he drags Bronx out of the room. "I want to talk to Jessica, if that's okay?" 

The door opens before Ashlee can answer, and then doesn't need to. The taller (and blonder) Simpson girl air kisses her sister, sailing past in vertiginous heels to press a kiss to Patrick's cheek and wave at Pete. It's a standing joke that she doesn't want to get too close to him, for reasons they won't discuss. "Vivienne!" 

That's it, really. They're out of the room before Ashlee or anyone else has time to ask where they're going, heads bent together and Jessica patting her oversized purse with a conspiratorial air. 

Pete tunes the rest out. He knows Joe Simpson is going to rant at some point, it just depends on whether he's going to have to pay attention for future reference, like he had to when he got the rant about pregnancy before marriage. That was a resounding NO, obviously. He swings his legs up onto Patrick's lap and starts talking to Angelina about African orphans, sharing stories of Fall Out Boy's work with Invisible Children and smiling at her own tales of UN work. 

He almost falls off the couch when Joe breaks away from Ashlee, trying valiantly to keep him calm, to yell "I SHOULD NEVER HAVE LET YOU OUT OF THE HOUSE WITH HIM!" 

Patrick sniggers. 

"Daddy, it's not a big deal, it's just a shock-" 

"Damn right it's a shock! If I'd known my grandson would end up like that nancy-boy you married—" 

"Daddy! Language, please. Try and keep it moderately politically correct, at least." 

"Honey, that boy ain't right." 

Patrick leans in against Pete's ear to whisper "which one?" and slides a hand into Pete's back pocket. Pete shivers and grins, reaching up to kiss Patrick's neck. He looks back at Angelina to see her beaming at him, launching into another anecdote. She and Brad had stopped adopting - stopped reproducing in general after the twins, so instead now she's involved in finding good homes for other orphans. 

Pete listens, and feels his chest start to hurt. "Ashlee?" He raises his voice, to be heard over Joe's continued ranting. "I think we should adopt." 

"Not now, Pete...." 

"Hell no! You're not going to ruin another one!" 

Pete would take offense, but if there's one thing that he's learned, it's that for all Joe Simpson's prejudices, most of it is just bluster. Sure, he still says inappropriate things about his daughter's breasts, and uses the most politically incorrect insults this side of the Chicago hardcore scene, but he'd do anything for his family. 

Pete scoots a little closer to Patrick and looks at him. 

"Don't you dare look at me with those eyes, you heard your wife." 

"But we'd be setting an example for Bronx! I'm all about setting an example, Trick." 

"Yeah, Pete. We've noticed," Patrick replies dryly, looking pointedly at exactly where Pete's hand has wandered. Pete bites his lip. 

"Oops?" Patrick simply smiles and asks Brad about his latest directorial venture, letting Pete snuggle against him while they chat. 

Visits from knife-wielding, humanitarian action stars and their Oscar-winning director husbands, a son probably making out with his boyfriend upstairs, cuddling his partner while his wife tells her father off for being melodramatic. 

It's as close to domestic bliss as they get. 

—- 

Pete wanders out onto the balcony overlooking their pool having escaped the living room when Angelina and Brad started discussing Thanksgiving plans with Ashlee and a slightly sulky Papa Joe, squinting until his eyes adjust to the late morning sun. He leans on the railing and looks out over the city, a smile spreading over his face as he hears someone step out behind him. 

Strong arms slide around his waist, a warm body pressing against his back and a chin resting on his shoulder. "Miss me that much?" 

Pete can feel Patrick's laugh, the vibrations reminding him how stupidly in love he is. "Something like that." Movement down by the pool halts anything Pete might want to add, both of them watching silently as Bronx and Knox appear from between the trees that screen the patio and pool from the rest of the garden. They walk slowly, holding hands and talking, apparently not noticing the two men above. 

"Do you think Ash minds about them?" 

"You're asking me if your wife has a problem with her son being gay?" Patrick tightens his grip around Pete's waist as he speaks, punctuating his incredulous tone with a nip at Pete's neck. 

"N-no, I guess not." 

They stand and watch the two boys gradually come to a halt near the corner of the house, still talking too quietly for the watchers to hear. Pete sucks in a breath as Knox's hands tangle in Bronx's hair, pulling him in for a soft kiss that quickly turns hungry. Bronx presses him back against the house, hands firm on his hips, and they lean comfortably. 

"We should probably stop—" Patrick starts, but gets cut off by Pete twisting round in his arms and kissing him hard, arms coming up to loop around his neck. 

Patrick pulls away to catch his breath, tipping his head back as Pete trails kisses down his jaw. "Ash'll kill us." 

Pete looks at him, eyes dark even in the bright sunlight. "We'll make it up to her." 

"What's brought this on?" 

"You want me to stop?" Pete sucks a mark underneath Patrick's ear, hands sliding down from his neck to tangle their fingers together. 

"Don't be an idiot. Tell me." 

Pete sighs and pauses his attack on Patrick's neck. "It's just...he's found someone, you know? And he looks happy, and I guess it's making me realize how long it took me to be as happy as he looks down there." 

"He's your son, Pete," Patrick says gently, "not you. Of course it's gonna be different." 

"Yeah, but—" he trails off, frustration in his voice. 

"But he didn't need an intervention by four people to tell him that he could have both the people he loves most in the world?" Pete nods wordlessly. Patrick tugs on their linked hands and pulls him back through the glass doors. "Come on." 

They move back inside the house, unaware that they were being watched from below. Bronx leans next to Knox against the house wall, looking up at the balcony with a soft expression. Knox blinks and frowns, turning to his boyfriend. "So, I know things with your family are weird, but..." 

Bronx laughs. "Mom, Dad and Patrick are together." 

"Together like...together?" 

"Yeah. Since I was about five." 

"How the hell did that happen?" Bronx sighs, tilting his head back and shutting his eyes against the glare of the sun. A grin spreads across his face as he feels Knox take his hand, thumb rubbing soft circles across the back. 

"Mom, Patrick, Andy and Joe ganged up on him one day. Basically told him he was being a fucking idiot, and that if he didn't see what was going on then he didn't deserve them. Turned out Mom and Trick had been talking about it for months, trying to work out what they were going to do. Andy walked in on them looking like a bit more than friends-" 

"They had an affair?" interrupts Knox. Bronx cracks open one eye and looks at him, frowning. 

"You think Patrick would to that to Dad, of all people?" 

"No, I guess not. Sorry." 

Bronx squeezes Knox's hand, forgiveness in a second. "They were close, though. Almost that close, I think, but they would never have done anything. Andy thought the same as you, until they assured him they weren't. It made them think about how near they were coming to an affair, so far as I understand, and they decided to go for it." 

"They told your Dad about them?" 

"Kinda." Bronx shifts, turns to lean on one shoulder so he can look at Knox. "I think it was more like an intervention, from what they've told me. Like, the four of them - Andy dragged Uncle Joe into it - made Dad listen to how dumb he was being, to not see it, and then Mom and Patrick told him what he could have." 

"It worked, obviously." 

"Not at first. Dad went all weird about it, got scared that if he tried to have them both then he'd end up losing it all." 

"What happened?" 

"I don't know, really. I think Mom basically ignored Dad and asked Patrick to move in, or something, and it worked really well. Mele and me were like brother and sister anyway, she was over here that much - after Lisa left, Mom pretty much filled in for her, then properly when Patrick got full custody." 

"Wasn't that weird?" 

Bronx chuckles, pushing away from the wall to stand in front of Knox, bouncing on his toes a little. "Still is, kinda, but. It's kinda like your family, except with more parents." 

"And less martial arts." 

They grin at each other, Bronx tugging Knox towards him in a move Pete would be proud of. "Let's go see if Papa Joe's finished shouting at Mom." 

—- 

It's quieter inside, almost conspicuously so. Only Ashlee and Angelina are visible downstairs, sitting at the huge kitchen table and drinking what look like cocktails. Bronx rolls his eyes and steals a sip of Ashlee's drink, grimacing at the taste. "What on earth is that?" 

"Screwdriver. It's an acquired taste - and you won't be acquiring it, go away." She bats his hand as he tries to steal the glass again, making him dodge back with a smile. 

"Where is everyone?" 

"Your granddad shouted himself hoarse and went home, Mele and Shiloh are still upstairs doing whatever it is they do-" 

"Probably gossiping about us." 

"-probably. Viv and my sister are still....bonding-" 

"Scary thought." 

"-and the other two are, well..." 

"We saw them." Ashlee lifts an eyebrow. Bronx lifts one back. 

Knox disentangles his fingers from Bronx and sits down next to Angelina, looking at her vivid blue drink with distaste. "Where's Dad?" 

"In the study, talking to George about something." 

"Will he be—" Knox gets cut off by the sudden return of Vivienne, looking like she's got a nefarious plan up her fashionable designer linen sleeves. She looks calculatingly at Bronx and Knox, sizing them up. The two boys look at each other in fear. 

"Um. Viv?" 

His twin grabs his arm, trying to pull him out of his seat. Knox stays exactly where he is and glares at her. "I've got weight and muscle on you, Viv, I'm not going anywhere." 

She drops his arm and pouts. "But me and Jessica want to do a makeover on you." 

"A what?" Bronx asks as the same time as Knox, both of them sounding utterly horrified. 

"A makeover. You know, like eyeliner and stuff." 

"Technically it'd be guyliner," Bronx interjects. 

"How do you know?" asks Vivienne, hands on her hips. He tone makes it clear that she expects him to have absolutely no understanding of make up whatsoever. Bronx shrugs. 

"My Dad told me. He taught me how to put it on as well." 

"He did?" Knox sounds a little...strangled. Bronx gives him a sharp look, catching the way Knox's eyes have darkened. 

"Yeah." Bronx licks his lower lip, oblivious to their mothers sitting right there. "Wanna see?" 

They're out of the room before anyone can say anything. Ashlee looks at Angelina, eyes wide. "They're not at the sex stage, are they?" 

Angelina speaks over Vivienne's shriek of "moo-om“ to say, "Probably. I was, at seventeen. And Knox has had the Talk, so it's cool." 

"So's Bronx," Ashlee tells her faintly, "but—sex!" 

"Try not to think about it, and have another drink." Ashlee takes the second cocktail Angelina pours, a blue one like her own, and downs half of it in one go. "At least you don't have to worry about teenage pregnancy with them." 

It must be the alcohol, because Ashlee doesn't feel any worry about saying, "That would be Mele. She's been talking about some boy called Tennyson, I think, for months. I'm not sure who he is." 

Angelina thinks, tapping her nails against the glass. "Could be Russell's son, unless someone else named their child Tennyson." 

"Sounds right. She's mentioned he's Australian." 

"That'd be him." Angelina looks at Ashlee, frowning slightly. "Isn't he nineteen?" 

Ashlee's eyes open wide again. "He'd better not be." 

Vivienne leans against the table, checking her manicure. "Harlow says-" 

"Vivienne, I wish you wouldn't talk about her. Harlow is as bad as her mother was at her age, nothing but a gossip and a socialite. And no, that is not a good thing." 

"Seriously, are you still holding a grudge?!" 

"She said some incredibly nasty things about your sister, of course I'm still holding a grudge!" 

"She's not all that bad." Vivienne looks to Ashlee for support, eyes pleading. 

"I'm with your mom on this one, sorry. She said some stuff to Kayliegh that upset her so much that Jessica had to go speak to Nicole and get Harlow to apologise, and my niece isn't easily offended." 

"Fine, fine." Vivienne's tone makes it obvious she's not convinced, and the mothers share a Look. "I'm gonna go call Gia, if that's allowed?" She flounces out before either of them can say anything, slamming the door behind her. 

"Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd say she was adopted. Nothing like Brad or me." 

Ashlee shrugs. "Kids grow up how they want to most of the time, no matter what their parents do." 

"True enough. More cocktails?" 

—- 

"So," Knox asks while Bronx peers into the mirror, "who exactly are you related to?"

Bronx moves the eyeliner away from his eye to turn and look at Knox. "Seriously? It's not that complicated."

"You've got three parents," Knox points out. "I just wanna be sure."

"I guess." Bronx looks back at the mirror, carefully drawing a black line under one eye. "Well, I'm an only child. I don't know why Mom and Dad never had any more kids; they don't really like talking about it, and I'm not really bothered." He steps back, making sure the line he made when talking is even. 

"So Mele isn't really your sister?"

"Well, she's not a blood-sister, but she's my sister in every way that matters. She's only about a year younger than me, so I've known her my whole life."

Knox nods, lying stretched out on Bronx's bed. He twists to lie on his stomach, watching Knox apply eyeliner to his eyelids. "So you're not related to Patrick?"

"Nope, all gossip to the contrary."

"What about the others?" Bronx casts him a questioning look, or as best he can with a stick of kohl so close to his eye. "The way you talk, you've got three sisters and more brothers than I can keep count of." 

Bronx laughs. "Um. Maria is Gerard's daughter, and Ellie is his brother Mikey's girl. They're up here so much, and we're down in Jersey, that they might as well be our sisters. Either that or really close cousins. Lewis and Joe are her twin brothers - named for my Uncle Joe, not Papa Joe-"

"That's Joe Trohman, right?"

"Yeah, no relation again. The terrible two are at some friend's house today, otherwise you'd've been subjected to them as well. They're Mele's full brothers - Patrick and his ex Lisa are their parents - but I think they think I'm their brother as well. We've never really told them different."

"Am I allowed to say your family is fucked up?"

"If you want a pillow thrown at you, sure." Bronx laughs again as Knox mimes zipping his mouth shut, making sure the eyeliner is thick enough. He leans back in to add some more.

"What about the rest?"

"That's it for me, really. It's one big, confusing, loud family of all the bands and their kids, and we all treat each other like brothers and sisters."

"Aren't some of you adopted?" 

Bronx sets down the liner and nods, looking at Knox's reflection in the mirror. His boyfriend has turned over again and is staring at the ceiling. "Yeah, not that it matters. Mele and the twins are all but legally adopted, and Spencer and Jon adopted their daughter Lilly a few years ago. She thinks she's got about ten brother and sisters, and she's not gonna know different until she actually asks."

"Huh. To me, it's freaking weird, but I guess to you it's normal, right?"

Bronx moves towards the bed and swings a leg over Knox's, settling across them and leaning over the other boy. "Yeah. And, look, we come as a package. You don't get me and not the rest of the insanity."

Knox looks up at Bronx, his dark eyes lined with black kohl that looks as good on him as it always does on Pete, and says in a choked voice: "I'm okay with that."

Bronx grins, watching Knox's reaction. He leans down a little. "You know, I never believed Dad when he said Patrick reacts like this to him in eyeliner, but I get it now."

"Shut up and kiss me," Knox retorts, grabbing a handful of Bronx's shirt and yanking him down. 

"Yup, same reaction."

—-

Papa Joe comes back around mid-afternoon, talking at a normal volume, but Pete and Angelina manage to get rid of him pretty quickly. The conversation goes something like this. 

Papa Joe: "How much do you reckon people will pay for the full story? Maybe a photoshoot as well?" 

Angelina: "Probably a lot...hey, we can give the money to Invisible Children!" 

Pete: "Yes!" (thinks hard, ignoring Papa Joe's rapidly reddening face) "My kid'd better fucking marry yours, it'd be fantastic! Think of the money we'd raise." 

Papa Joe: *incoherent noises of shock* 

Ashlee: "Pete, please don't joke about that sort of thing." 

Pete: "I'm not joking. They'd better get married, or I'm divorcing my wife." 

Angelina: "Which one?" 

Papa Joe: *leaves, now a tomato-ish shade of red and muttering about sons-in-law that should have been drowned at birth* 

Ashlee: "Asshole." 

Aaaand silence reigns once more. At least until Bronx and Knox start yelling. 

—- 

There seems to be a consensus in the Simpson-Wentz-Stump (or whichever blend they feel like using on any given day) household that no matter how bad you know it's going to be, you must always check the internet anyway. Pete calls it knowing your own press. Patrick calls it stupidity. Either one works fine, at least until it results in strife and arguments. 

Contrary to first appearances, Bronx and Knox aren't yelling at each other. Instead, they're yelling at Vivienne, who, in the interests of serving teenage girls everywhere, had updated her personal blog with details about their 'styles'. To be perfectly honest, neither of them were really aware they had styles. 

Patrick gets upstairs first, just in time to hear Bronx (it has to be Bronx, it sounds that much like Pete) shout "I don't want to be the fucking poster boy for gay teens!" 

"Language," Patrick says mildly before Vivienne can yell back. "Downstairs now, please." 

Vivienne just looks at him, lips tightly pressed together and a scowl the like of which Patrick hasn't seen since the last time Frank accidentally kneed Bob in the balls on her face. She opens her mouth to argue, but Patrick repeats in the tone of voice that still makes Pete shut up: "Downstairs now." 

All three of them troop down into the sitting room, where Ashlee, Pete and Angelina are waiting for them. Vivienne gets called over to sit with the mothers, while Pete joins Patrick and the boys in the kitchen. Pete settles himself at one of the stools lining the counter and rests his head on his hand, watching the boys whispering furiously at each other. 

"Papa Joe wants to know why he didn't fall for the other twin." 

Patrick pulls a face. "Did he mention the word breasts?" 

"Yup. Couple of times." 

"The man never changes." 

"Nope." Patrick lets Pete lean against him, both of them half-watching what the boys are doing and half-listening to Angelina and Ashlee telling Vivienne off for giving her brother and his boyfriend so much unwanted press. The clatter of pans pulls their full attention to the kitchen, Knox pulling stuff from cupboards and directing Bronx to find the measuring cups. 

"Are they making pancakes?" Patrick asks, and can almost hear the 'awwwww!' that goes through Pete's head. He keeps it inside, thankful; there's only so much of Pete acting like a teenage girl that Patrick can cope with, and with three already in the house, he's at his limit. 

"That was us sixteen years ago," he says instead, sighing happily. 

Patrick pokes him. "What the fuck, that's us now." 

"Nuh-uh! You've never made me pancakes." 

"I've bought you pancakes," Patrick points out. "Does that count?" 

Over in the living room, having finished making sure Vivienne is properly chastised and knows not to post about Knox's relationship without his approval, the three women listen to the argument coming from the kitchen. Open-plan houses are great for eavesdropping. 

"Are they really arguing about pancakes, or is it a metaphor for something I don't want to know about?" asks Vivienne, confusion evident. 

"No, they're arguing about pancakes." Ashlee sounds both resigned and affectionate, smiling as she speaks. 

"Have you ever got used to this?" 

"Eventually, it's just this disquieting hum in the background. I tune them out a lot of the time when they're like this." 

"How on earth do you cope," the teenager asks incredulously. "I can barely cope with one boyfriend, let alone two...um. Husbands?" 

Ashlee shrugs. "We're a piece of paper away from legally-sanctioned polyamory, so, yeah. I had to accept that there's a lot of stuff I won't get, from before Pete and me met, but other than that I cope because it's what I want. I love them both, and they love me; that makes up for most of the stupid arguments they get into." 

"That and the sex," Angelina adds, a wicked look in her eyes. 

"Uh..." 

"Please don't answer that," Vivienne says hastily. "Subject change. Is Dad still on the phone?" 

"Yup. He and George are probably having phone sex." 

"Mom! Please, never mention that again." 

"Sooner or later, my little mpenzi, you'll realise that everything comes down to sex." Vivienne makes an outraged noise and flees, leaving Ashlee and Angelina giggling like a pair of children. Patrick looks at Pete, blushing slightly. 

"And they say we're bad." 

—- 

Then there's the awkward ten minutes where Ashlee drags Brad off the phone to George and tells him to make sure Knox has had the Talk, during which Brad blinks at his son, waits until Ashlee has left them alone for 'privacy' (which means at least one of the girls is probably listening in) and then says "we don't really have to go through this, do we?" 

Knox turns red and shakes his head. Brad looks relieved, and a little bit proud. "You can go back to the phone now, Dad. Seriously, go. It's embarrassing just thinking about trying to have that talk with you." 

Brad mock salutes. "Whatever, it would've been worse with you mother." Knox shudders. "She'd have given you tips. Probably still will." 

"Dad," Knox yelps, in much the same tone as his twin had earlier. "Shove off, or I'll tell the internet George Clooney is married at last, and watch you try and cope with him when his door gets beaten down by angry women." 

"Betrayed by my own flesh and blood," Brad groans, faking a mortal wound to the heart. "That was five years ago, and I still haven't recovered. Guy's a bigger diva than Mariah Carey." 

That's it, pretty much. Some things are simple. 

—- 

Patrick's method of giving Bronx the Talk, when Ashlee turns her attention to him, is to make sure Bronx remembers the one Ashlee doesn't know he and Pete gave her son about three years ago, and then hand him a slip of paper. 

"Whose number is this?" 

"Mikey Way's. I don't think you know his cell, but it might be useful." 

Bronx looks at the series of digits in confusion. "Why? What's Mikey got to do with this?" 

"He taught your Dad all he knows." 

"About wha- oh. Right." Patrick grins at the faint blush visible on Bronx's dark cheeks. "Um, won't he think it's a bit weird to be telling his ex-boy-" Patrick shakes his head vigorously. "Ex-whatever's son that sort of thing?" 

"Mikeyway won't have a problem, trust me. His perspective on family ties is a bit different from most people's." Patrick waves Bronx back into the kitchen where Pete and Knox are adding the finishing touches to yet more pancakes, deciding to give him that particular talk oh, never. 

—- 

Lunch consists of - what else - pancakes, which no one really minds because pancakes. They eat sitting on the floor in the living room, because there aren't enough chairs to go round. Brad makes a joke about needing to add a ballroom for family gatherings, if Knox and Bronx do get married, then pales under the combined weight of the stares he gets. 

Things have calmed down somewhat, more so after Vivienne apologizes to the boys and the last of the lingering tension fades. There's nothing much else for them to discuss, now that the major issues have been talked over in a mature and responsible way (Patrick gets a cushion in the face for even thinking those words around Pete), but before Brad can suggest getting the hell out of there to do something normal, like golf, Travis turns up. 

With Katy, which is awesome because everyone likes Katy. 

After that there's nothing for it. Like just about every other time Katy comes round, things devolve into karaoke. Angelina's got a pretty good voice, although Shiloh sits on her Dad when he starts trying to sing Queen. Bronx stands up and sings 'I Kissed a Girl' just for the irony, getting a round of applause and a kiss from Knox when he sits down. 

Pete sits curled up between Ashlee and Patrick, watching the kids take their turns at the microphone, and remembers. 

When Bronx had first started singing, as a kid, Pete glared suspiciously at Patrick, because there was no fucking way his kid got that good a voice from himself or Ashlee. 

He was still glaring and refusing to talk to Patrick an hour later, remembering that one comment Patrick made a million years ago about how he 'may or may not' have been there when Bronx was conceived. 

When Ashlee had gotten back from wherever it was she'd gone while Pete was doubting the paternity of his child, she'd taken one look Bronx still happily mangling the words to 'Nine in the Afternoon' (not the best choice for a four-year-old) and Pete's scowl, and thwacked him over the head with her purse. 

Thankfully it had been a small one, otherwise he'd be permanently damaged. 

"I'm not the Wentz-wife he slept with, idiot," she'd said exasperatedly, and went off to put her shopping away. 

Patrick had chuckled at his laptop, and Pete still puts up with so much shit for even thinking it was possible. 

Bronx sits down after that, letting Mele take over. Her smooth voice, almost exactly the female counterpart of Patrick's, makes Pete's chest ache, he loves it that much. Patrick still won't accept compliments with anything approaching grace, preferring to duck his head and avoid them, so Pete takes the circular route of complimenting Mele until she blushes, complaining that it's not fair, it's not her fault she sounds so good. 

Patrick tends to shut Pete up with a kiss at that point, which maybe explains why Pete likes teasing her so much. Mele's usual reaction of flinging her hands in the air and saying "parents" probably also has something to do with it, because although he knows their combined kids all act and talk like they've got one mom and two dads, hearing it said is another thing entirely. 

Pete pulls his attention back to the room at large when he hears someone say: "We go up to Chicago, every winter." 

He nudges Ashlee. "We need to start organizing that." She nods, settling back against his side. 

"Bronx is telling Knox about it." 

"—there's always a huge snowfall, and it's usually Fall Out Boy against Panic, because we all get together for at least three days over Christmas, with Mele and me refereeing. Dad always cheats." 

"Hey!" 

Bronx grins, unrepentant. "You totally do, Dad." 

"You get snow over Christmas?" Knox sounds like a child, tone wondering. Bronx looks at him in surprise, although he can't really look anywhere else, seeing as both of them are both squashed into the same armchair. 

"Yeah. Where do you spend Christmas?" 

Knox shrugs awkwardly. "Here, mostly. Africa, once in a while, or France, but it doesn't snow there, just gets cold." 

Bronx stares in disbelief. "You've never had Christmas with really heavy snow?" 

"Nope." 

"Dude." 

"You should come with us this year." Patrick drops it into the conversation like it's nothing, inwardly smiling at the way Ashlee's head jerks around. "There're enough rooms even with all of us and Panic; it's a freaking huge house." 

"Patrick!" Ashlee sounds a little hysterical. Obviously the alcohol from those cocktails has worn off. "You're supposed to be the good influence in the house!" 

Patrick grins, the one that always makes people shiver and realize that he's not as innocent as he still looks. "Yeah, well, sometimes I like being irresponsible." 

The noise level rises as everyone talks about the proposed holiday at once, karaoke forgotten. Jessica wanders down from sorting out Ashlee's wardrobe (as all good sisters should take it upon themselves to do, she feels, even if it will earn her a pissed-off little sister. It's worth it to make sure Ashlee stays up to date) to ask anyone listening, "What's going on?" 

"What isn't going on," Shiloh answers, typical bored teenager. Jessica wisely collects her bag and slips out quietly, calling Tony to come pick her up. 

Shiloh waits until there's a lull in the chatter to say to her mom, "Can I get a tattoo?" 

Angelina looks at her from where she's sitting Buddha-style on the floor, leaning against Brad's legs. "You don't really need to ask, you know. You're nineteen." 

"I know, but I wanted to. Could you help me choose one?" It's as good a time as any to ask, Shiloh reasons; this doesn't seem like such a big deal next to Knox's big gay wedding extravaganza, as she's dubbed today. They're probably going to celebrate this day for years. 

"Sure. I think I've got some books at home with designs in them that might help. Were you thinking tribal, or what?" 

Shiloh moves to sit next to her mom, ignoring the shouts of embarrassment as Ashlee pulls out the baby videos. "I'm not sure. Something cool, but uniquely me. Like Pete's, maybe." 

Angelina nods, waving an arm in Pete's direction to catch his attention. He looks around when Patrick shakes him with the arm he's got draped over Pete's shoulders. "Yeah?" 

"Can we see your tattoos?" Angelina asks. "Shiloh's thinking of getting one." 

"Sure." Pete pulls his arms away from where he had them around Ashlee's waist, sitting upright and holding them out in front of him. 

"I've always though they were really cool, but I've never fully seen them," Shiloh comments, gently twisting Pete's arm to see the back. "Do you still like them?" 

"Love them. Every single one." 

"Patrick? You've had to see them practically every day for over twenty years, do you still like them?" 

Patrick swallows hard. On the one hand, they pretty much represent pain, which he's not a fan of under any circumstances. On the other hand, they're Pete's tattoos. He knows what every single one looks like, what they feel like under his tongue, all of it. He can't really say that to a nineteen-year-old, even one with parents as laid back as Angelina. He settles for, "Sure. I'm used to them, I guess. They suit him." 

Pete wriggles back against Patrick just a little, to let him know that Pete knows exactly what he isn't saying. 

Shiloh nods, satisfied. "Cool. Oh, and another thing. Mom, would you be okay if I dated a girl? Just to see what all the fuss is about?" 

Everyone except, weirdly, Brad, stares at her like she's grown two heads. Knox stage-whispers, "She's stealing our limelight!" before Bronx shuts him up with a hand over his mouth and a threat of no sex for a week if he says anything like that again that Ashlee pretends not to have heard. Shiloh looks innocently at her parents. 

"Who are we talking about here?" Brad asks. 

"I was thinking maybe Suri?" 

He snorts and shakes his head. "After the whole Scientology scam-thing Tom won't let her out of the house without a couple of dozen bodyguards, and that's ignoring the fact that she's had plenty of boyfriends, honey; I'm pretty sure she's straight." 

"Well," interrupts Pete, "there's this thing called 'gay above the waist..." 

Ashlee and Patrick jump on him before he can set any more of a bad example.


End file.
